


Riders of the Roost

by Totallytwistedwords



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, All training mistakes are mine, Destiel - Freeform, Dragon Riders, Dragons, M/M, Medieval AU, Minor Character Death, Violence, dragon rider au, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3302132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Totallytwistedwords/pseuds/Totallytwistedwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the mountains above the city of Dragon's Roost was an order that spanned centuries- the Dragon Riders, sworn to protect the country and the king from all manner of evil. But sometimes, evil can't be battled.</p><p>Dean Johnsson has traveled a long way to train as a Dragon Rider, but immediately butts heads with his teacher, the strange Castiel. The training is hard, and the rewards are few, especially considering Dean never wanted to join the Riders at all. With danger on the horizon, he'll have to embrace his training, and all that the Riders stand for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by magniloquentChanteuse

The city was loud. Vendors yelled the praises of their wares, horses clacked down the cobblestone streets. Though the city was large, and prosperous, the people of Dragon’s Roost lived simple lives, far removed from the splendor and feasts of the Capital. Their claim to fame was no less than that of the King’s city, however. Far above the busy marketplace and sturdy homes lived the dragons. The dragons… and their riders.

Castiel sat on a big flat rock on the side of a large, deep ledge, high in the mountains above Dragon’s Roost. He was basking in the sun, back straight, eyes closed. Soon, his quiet arena would be filled with the nervous tension of a hundred new Rider recruits, anxious for their first day of training. Until then, the Rider was content to wait.  
He heard it when the first group of trainees entered the arena. They had spent their first night in the mountain the night before, and had likely already begun forming friendships, despite the fact that only 10 of them would be allowed to join the ranks of the Riders. A few moments of silence passed before Castiel heard a flurry of whispers from the small group as they debated whether or not they should speak to him. With a mental sigh, the Rider accepted that his quiet time was over for the foreseeable future, and opened his eyes. The trainees stood huddled near the largest door of the arena, a towering wooden behemoth that was as far from the drop Castiel sat at as possible. For a moment, he assessed the small group in front of him. Then, he spoke.  
“You may be interested to know that sound carries exceptionally well all throughout the Roost.” The trainees all gave a guilty flinch at his voice. “It’s uncertain if this was intentional or not, but the point stands.” The recruits shuffled, some muttering soft ‘sorry, sir’s. Castiel gave a single nod and turned his gaze to the doorway they stood near. “That goes for those of you lurking inside as well.” A few seconds passed before a second group sheepishly entered the arena.

When Castiel counted 100 recruits in front of him, he slipped from his perch and stood. The group fell silent immediately. He made his way to the side, where a long pathway began its winding way up the side of the mountain, doors placed every so often. He walked a short distance up the wide path and stopped when he was sure everyone could see him.  
“My name is Castiel.” He paused a moment to allow the excited murmurs that always came after he introduced himself to die back down. Along the trail behind him, several doors opened, quietly expelling Riders, all of whom carried small bundles. “I will be your primary trainer. I will teach you strategy, hand-to-hand combat, and basic weaponry. Behind me are some of your comrades-at-arms. They are here at my request, to help you today. Now, pay attention. I don’t care to repeat myself. We will provide you with armor. Once you put it on, it will be yours to care for, though any size alterations you may require may be taken to the tailor or the armory.” Raising his forearm towards the crowd, he tapped the hard leather there. “This is a bracer. It protects you from your bowstring and blunt objects. It laces up the top of your arm. You have two. They are not an optional piece of armor.” Castiel held both his hands in front of him and wiggled his fingers. “Gloves are optional. Most of you would do well to wear them, especially at first.” Castiel’s own palms were bare. He thumped the leather on his chest. “Note that my midriff is bare. This grants me a maximum range of motion, though obviously leaves me vulnerable. My sides are also bare.” The Rider turned to the side to the trainees could see as he spoke. “This is where the breastplate buckles.” He turned to face the other side of the arena, allowing the crowd a second look at the single buckle attached by a thick piece of leather. “There is one on each side.” Turning again to face the trainees, Castiel slapped the leather on his thighs. “Tassets. They strap on and tie in the back.” The Rider tapped on the belt around his waist. “Belt. Boots. Soft cloth pants that should fit tightly to your skin. This is the armor of a Rider. We are exposed. We’re not like Knights or the King’s Guard-”  
“That’s for damn sure.” A voice muttered. Castiel’s eyebrows drew down.  
“Step forward, trainee.” There was a few moments of shuffling, before a single man stepped forward. He stared defiantly at Castiel with bright green eyes.  
“Sir.”  
“Identify yourself.”  
“Dean Johnsson, sir.” His eyes slid past Castiel, staring blankly at the wall behind him. Castiel hopped lightly off the path and made his way to Dean.  
“Are you aware, Johnsson, that you are under no obligation to remain here? You are free to leave at any time.”  
“Yes, sir. I am aware.” Castiel raised an eyebrow.  
“Look at me when I speak to you.” He breathed the words- only Dean heard him, and his eyes flicked back to the Rider’s face, locking onto his unnaturally blue eyes. “If you are so unimpressed, and you know that you are able to leave…” Castiel lowered his tone further. “Why are you still here?” Dean’s eyes widened and he paled, struggling to find an answer. “I won’t make you leave, not today. But in the future, you will show respect for the Riders you seek to join. Am I understood, Dean Johnsson?” Dean nodded.  
“Yes, sir.” Castiel nodded back.  
“Good.” The Rider raised his voice to its normal volume and addressed the rest of the trainees. “Come get your armor. You will change here. There is no shame among your fellow Riders. But, do remember. If you should find your eyes lingering where they are not wanted… We begin sparring tomorrow. Revenge is encouraged, and if I hear any tales of inappropriate behavior, you will spar with me.” Castiel returned to his rock-seat as the other Riders helped the recruits into their new armor. When all the trainees were changed and their old clothes were in bundles by the wall, Castiel stood atop his rock. “From this moment until you either leave or gain your wings, you are Rider-kin. You are ours, and we are yours. Welcome to the Roost, fledglings.”

Dean grumbled to himself as he plopped, face-down, on his cot. He and the other trainees had spent the whole morning practicing 3 different blocks with their bracers. Castiel had made each trainee- or fledglings, as they were more affectionately called- show him all 3, one at a time, before he released them for lunch. As it turned out, Castiel had actually let them out early, and the food wouldn’t be ready for another half hour.  
“You tired already, Dean?” The girl with the bed on Dean’s left teased. Dean turned his head until he could see her shock of red hair. They had introduced themselves the night before, and he thought he could maybe be friends with her.  
“No, Charlie. It’s just… nothing. Don’t worry about it.” The girl shrugged, and then and there Dean knew he would definitely become friends with her.  
“So, where do you come from, Dean?”

After lunch, the fledglings all gathered at the arena again. Castiel was waiting for them. When the last stragglers made it in, the Rider addressed them all.  
“From this moment on, anyone who keeps me waiting will be punished. You won’t keep me waiting after that. Whatever time I tell you to be here, that’s when we start, am I understood?” A murmur of consensus made its way from the group. “Good. Now, get some space between you. You need to be able to hold your arms straight out in any direction without touching anyone.” For the next half hour, the Rider led his fledglings through the first part of what he called the Dragon’s Dance, a series of poses and stretches designed to improve balance and flexibility. When he finally allowed his students to stand straight on both legs again, everyone had worked up a sweat and most people had fallen over at least once. “Follow me.” he ordered. “We’re going on a run. But,” Castiel waited for the groans to peter out before continuing. “There’s a little bit of a catch. When I jog, you jog. When I sprint, you sprint. If you pass out, try to do it away from the people behind you, but not towards the edge. The same goes for if you must throw up. Understood? Let’s go.” Castiel immediately took off at a brisk jog, heading straight for the winding pathway up the mountain. His flock of fledglings followed after.  
It didn’t take Dean long to notice a pattern. The Rider would jog for about 10 minutes, then sprint for about three. Every third rotation they’d slow to a walk. By the time they arrived back at the arena, everyone but Castiel seemed exhausted. To their great delight, water had been set out for them in the arena. The Rider let them drink and rest for about 10 minutes before he called them back to order. He had them all sit in rows before he spoke.  
“Not every day is going to be so physical, but for the rest of the summer, we’ll run every day. By the time winter hits us, I expect less than half of you will still be here. This training is hard. It has to be. I’d rather you go home alive than die because I didn’t train you well enough. When you decide to leave, I don’t care what time it is, come see me. I’ll make sure your travel expenses home are covered. Until you leave this mountain, you are ours, and we are yours, and the Roost takes care of its own. Am I understood?”  
“Yes, sir.” Came the reply. The Rider graced them with a small smile.  
“Good. Now, close your eyes and clear your minds. Think no thoughts, just listen to what I say. Take a deep breath in… and let it out. In… and out.” Castiel led them through meditation for half an hour before he stood, stretching. His students followed his example gracelessly, standing gingerly on sore and sleeping muscles. “You all did well today. Since it’s the first day, I’ll set you free early. Be here tomorrow at dawn.”  
Dean struggled from the arena with everyone else, wondering how long it would be before dinner. The next thing he was aware of, he was being shaken awake by a large, warm hand. When he rolled to see who it belonged to, he was faced with Castiel’s bright blue eyes, which seemed to be smiling, though the rest of his face was not. Dean blamed the thought that they also seemed to be glowing on the fact that he had just woken up. A quick glance around the room showed other Riders rousing the other fledglings.  
“What-”  
“We know how tired you all are. And the Roost takes care of its own.” Castiel helped Dean stand on his aching legs. “We can’t have our fledglings sleeping through dinner.” With a clap on the shoulder, Castiel went to wake Charlie. Dean knew it wasn’t personal, knew the Rider was just doing his job, but for just a moment, Dean felt cared for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by magniloquentChanteuse.

A loud bell woke Dean the next day. For a long moment, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to get out of bed. All his muscles had stiffened up in the night. He heard Charlie groan on his right.  
“What’s the bell mean?” He asked, slowly stretching his legs.  
“One hour before dawn. They do another an hour before sundown.” Charlie had lived in the city of Dragon’s Roost all her life, and had simply had to move up the mountain for training. Around them, other fledglings were groaning and stretching. The sound of popping joints filled the air. “It has to get better.” Charlie joked. “Can you imagine Castiel hurting this much every morning?” Dean snorted. No, he couldn’t.

After breakfast, the fledglings gathered in the arena. Castiel wasn’t there, so the trainees talked amongst themselves while they waited. Dean and Charlie listened to the conversation next to them.  
“From what I hear, Azazel has the king wrapped around his finger. Managed to convince him that some of the lords on his council were planning treason.” Someone else scoffed.  
“What’s to say they weren’t?” Dean had been wondering the same thing.  
“They weren’t even given a trial, just hung and left to rot. Their families were exiled, and their lands, most of them at least, went to Azazel, for telling the king in the first place.” There was an uncomfortable silence.  
“That doesn’t mean anything…” The speaker trailed off as Castiel entered the arena.  
“Good morning, fledglings,” he greeted. “Spread out so you can’t touch anyone else.” The trainees hurried to obey, sore bodies protesting as the Rider led them through a series of gentle stretches that soon had the arena filling with pops and cracks.

Once they had worked the stiffness from their bodies, Castiel led them on a jog to the armory.  
“You need to start getting used to your staff now. Mostly, Riders don’t use blades. They take years of practice and are impractical from the back of a dragon. Your staff should be right around your own height, but don’t just find one that’s your size and call it good enough. Try a few out, check the balance, the weight. They’ll all be heavy right now- they should be. You’ll grow into them. Like with your armor, once the staff is yours it will largely be yours to care for, but they don’t need much. In here, they’re arranged by height. Tallest over there,” he motioned towards the back of the room, “Smallest there.” He gestured towards the door. “Go.” The fledglings quickly split up. Dean set out for the back of the room, eyeing the barrels of staffs as they grew closer to his height. When he stopped, he pulled a staff out at random and immediately put it back, not liking the feel. After a few more tried he found one he liked. Seeing other people presenting their staffs to Castiel, Dean made his way to the line, grumbling to himself about how a stick wasn’t a weapon. When Dean showed his staff to the Rider, he was sure Castiel knew how little he thought of the weapon. Neither said anything about it, and Castiel nodded his approval to let him join the others who hadn’t been sent back to pick again. Once everyone had a weapon, Castiel got their attention and climbed onto a table to they could see him. “Some of you have already noticed, I see, but on the back of your breastplate is a sheath for your weapon. Try it now.” Dean and Charlie exchanged a glance.  
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” the girl offered. Dean grinned and turned around, allowing Charlie to see his back. When he turned around. Charlie did the same for him. “Don’t know how I didn’t notice those before…” Charlie muttered as she attempted to slot her staff into the two leather loops on her back. Dean grinned and follow suit, cursing when he managed to hit himself in the head.  
“Stupid, oversized twig,” he grumbled, rubbing the spot. Mumbling incomprehensibly, he finally worked the stick into place. When he looked up it seemed to tower over him, and its weight threatened to throw him off balance. Nearby, Castiel was correcting a tall boy who has having trouble.  
“It goes the other way. It’s thicker on the top. Keeps it in place.” Dean glanced up again- he hadn’t noticed. Once all the trainees had their staffs in place, they jogged back to the arena, where Castiel had them practice sheathing and unsheathing until their arms burned. “He doesn’t have to carry around a big stick,” Dean muttered to Charlie at one point, making the small girl smile.  
“He’s paid his dues.”

After lunch, Castiel addressed them all.  
“Most things, I can teach you. Some things, you’ll need to find out on your own. And some things you simply have to have a talent for. But those things come later. For now, put your staffs to the side, and by Zotai, make sure you remember which one is yours.” Once the fledglings had regrouped, Castiel had them pair off and spread out. “Now, you’re going to fight. I need an idea of what you can do. And remember- hitting someone in their private places is considered dishonorable and will not be tolerated in training.”  
“What about after?” Dean couldn’t help but ask. Eyes around the arena flickered to him, then their teacher.  
“Do you mean in real battle?” Dean nodded. “If it comes down to a life or death situation where you can kick someone between their legs or die, it’s more important that you stay alive.” Castiel turned back to the rest of the recruits. “Begin.” For a while, he watched the fights from his stone perch, assessing who would need more help than others, who was fighting someone too far below their own skill level, and who seemed to shirk away from the violence altogether. When he had an idea of what he had to work with, he entered the crowd, pausing battles to offer tips or change groupings up. When he reached Dean, who had paired with Charlie, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the redhead was still holding her own against the much larger man, who also clearly knew how to fight. When he stopped them, he focused his attention first on her. “You’re good.” he complimented. “What’s your name?” her face, already flushed from the fight, pinked.  
“Thank you. I’m Charlie. Charlie Trudiesdaughter.” After a moment’s consideration, Castiel held out his hand. Eyes wide with shock, Charlie gripped his forearm, and he hers.  
“Well met, Charlie Trudiesdaughter.” When he released her arm, he turned to Dean. “You’re letting your guard down because you’re bigger than she is. Charlie’s had several openings to get to your stomach. Try holding your arms closer to your body, like this.” Castiel shifted into a fighting stance, which Dean hesitantly copied. “Tuck your elbows in.” The Rider nodded when Dean corrected. “Good. Carry on.” Castiel made his way to the next pair and Charlie grabbed Dean’s arm.  
“He said ‘well met’. The famous Castiel said ‘well met’!” she hissed excitedly. “To me!” Dean laughed.  
“Good job.” Charlie grinned.  
“Did you see his eyes?” Dean shrugged.  
“They’re kind of hard to miss, aren’t they, with that color?” Charlie smacked his arm.  
“Not the color! Though they are a really strange shade. I’ve never seen eyes that color before. But his pupils are slitted. Like a cat’s or something.”

When the bell rang to mark the hour before sundown, Castiel led the fledglings on their run. After their water break, he ran them through the Dragon’s Dance and sat them down for meditation.  
“Someday, using meditative techniques, you will be able to feel the minds of everyone around you. It’s how we communicate with the dragons, though very few Riders have ever been able to communicate with other humans this way. Now, close your eyes, and empty your minds. Deep breath in…”

When the sun disappeared over the horizon, Castiel opened his eyes. Looking at his fledglings, he didn’t doubt that some of them were asleep.  
“Before I let you go,” several people jumped at his words, “A quick history lesson. I’m going to tell you the story of the first Rider. Many of you may have heard of Michael Dragoneye, founder of the Riders. Though he is often remember as such, he wasn’t the first dragon rider. There was a woman named Mary. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of your mothers were named for her, though she’s long been forgotten about by most, her name her final legacy. Now, the stories say that Mary was kind, gentle beyond all belief, and beautiful. She lived far south of our borders, on a quiet farm. She had two children, and son and a daughter. Their names were Dana and Samuel. Her husband was away at war, and she missed him terribly. One day, a group of bandits, knowing all the men were away, began looting and burning their way through the countryside, killing every woman and child they came across. When they neared her house, Mary hid her children in the woods, and hid all evidence of them, to keep the bandits from searching for them. Before she could go hide herself, they arrived. After taking everything of value, they set fire to the house, with Mary inside. Before they rode away on their stolen horses, a red dragon named Zotai swooped in and killed them all. The men had found her nest a few days before, and smashed all her eggs. Zotai would have let the flames take Mary, but she heard Dana and Samuel running away, and understood that Mary had risked her life and saved her children, where she, Zotai, had not. By the time she freed Mary from the fire, she was badly hurt. In order to save her life, Zotai changed Mary, made her stronger, more like a dragon. But the change took several days, and by the time Mary was well, Dana and Samuel were far away. Though Mary’s mind wasn’t disciplined enough to communicate mentally with Zotai, they eventually worked out a crude system, and Zotai agreed to help Mary find her children. So Mary climbed onto Zotai’s back and became Mary Dragonblessed, the first dragon rider.”  
“Did they find her kids? Dana and Samuel?” One of the fledglings dared to ask.  
“One of them,” Castiel answered. “It only took a few days, but Dana, who was older, had died protecting Samuel. Eventually, he grew up, married, and had children, one of whom eventually became known as Michael Dragoneye.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by magniloquentChanteuse

The third day of training went much like the second and first. The morning was spent drilling basic strikes and blocks with their staffs. By the time lunch rolled around, Dean was surprised that his arms were still attached to his body and hadn’t fallen off in protest. After lunch, they did the Dragon’s Dance, went for their run, then Castiel drilled them in hand-to-hand combat before setting them to spar with a partner. As the bell rang, he led them through their meditation.

When the sun fell beyond the horizon, Castiel woke his dozing students.  
“Today I’m going to tell you the story of the first Rider, the way the dragons remember it. Much is the same. A woman named Mary, her children, the dragon Zotai. Instead of bandits, we have a village. One of the village boys had stumbled across Zotai’s eggs, and crushed all but one, which he took home with him. Zotain followed his scent and destroyed the village, killing one of Mary’s children, but rescuing her egg. A few days later, Mary approached Zotai, who had taken up residence among the burning houses. She was angry, yelling and screaming, but naturally Zotai had no idea what she was saying. When Zotai grew tired of the noise, she burnt Mary too. As she burned, something changed in Mary’s mind, and she was able to thrust the image of her daughter at Zotai. Knowing a mother’s wrath herself, Zotai pitied the weak human, who couldn’t take revenge for her dead child. So she bestowed the Dragon’s Gift on her, which healed her wounds and made her fierce, as a mother should be. A nearby town had heard of Zotai and so banded together to rid themselves of her. When she was healed, Mary climbed into Zotai’s back and together they defeated anyone who would hurt their children.” There was a few seconds of silence once the Rider finished his story.  
“But which one is true?” Castiel looked as the speaker for a long moment before shrugging.  
“Who’s to say? Most likely some mix of the two.” Dean huffed.  
“If it’s not even true, why tell us? What’s the point?”  
“Stories have value, Johnsson. And the pair are the closest thing we have to the truth.”  
“But why does it matter?” Dean pressed.  
“Beginnings are important. Mary and Zotai were our beginning. Without them, none of us would be here today.” Dean’s reply was halted when Charlie reached over and smacked his leg warningly.   
Castiel dismissed them and the group collected their staffs- having had to take them off to sit on the ground- and left. Castiel stayed behind. Slowly, he stood and turned to face the abyss that stretched out before him. For a brief moment, he felt the desire to leap from the mountain, spread his wings, and fly until he could go no further. But he had no wings, and could not. Reluctantly, he backed away from the edge. With a wistful glance, he turned and entered the mountain. His plan had been to go to dinner, but the thought of being around so many people, so much noise, had him turning the other way. He made his way higher, up to where the dragons, and many of the Riders, lived. For a moment, he considered entering his dragon’s sleep-space, but quickly squashed the idea. In his current mood- which soured the more he walked- he wasn’t fit to be around anyone, especially the dragon, whose testiness could match his own. Instead, he made his way higher, to a part of the mountain he was sure no one but himself had visited for years. When he finally stopped walking, he sat on a ledge that opened up to the sky. It was much smaller than the arena, only being able to fit five or ten people comfortably. It was the only place in all of the Roost where Castiel was guaranteed to be left alone, if only because no one knew it existed. He shivered as the cold wind threatened to pluck him up and carry him away. Castiel thought he might not mind what happened after, if he got to fly first. With a frustrated sigh, he flopped backwards and look up at the twinkling stars, telling himself the stories he had heard about them when he was a child, many years and miles ago.

The next morning, when the bell woke Castiel, he was still on the edge, with his legs hanging over. They were completely numb, and he was freezing. More used to the situation than he would have liked to admit, he calmly worked the blood back into his legs and jogged down to breakfast, hoping none of the fledglings had decided to leave in the night, but had been unable to find him for help with their travel expenses.

When Castiel entered the arena at dawn, he did a quick headcount, and his stomach dropped- there was only 99 fledglings in front of him.  
“Who isn’t here?” he asked the group as he began their morning stretches. The trainees glanced among themselves before an answer was offered.  
“Dean. Johnsson.” Charlie spoke, clearly anxious.

“Is he gone?” The girl shook her head emphatically.  
“He’s just… late.” she spoke the last word softly, as though if Castiel didn’t hear her say it, he wouldn’t punish her friend. The Rider frowned but didn’t speak. He didn’t mention it when Dean ran in ten minutes later. The first time he addressed Dean at all was right before he released them for lunch.  
“Stay back a moment, Johnsson.” Dean, visibly nervous, nodded. He stood still as everyone left- except for Charlie, Castiel noticed. He hid his smile as the small redhead held her ground next to her friend, despite the boy’s attempts to make her leave. Charlie started speaking as soon as Castiel drew near.  
“It wasn’t his fault, Castiel, he couldn’t help it-” Dean cut her off with a hard slap to her exposed side. Castiel smiled slightly.  
“Dean and I are just going to talk for a few minutes. You can wait for him outside.” he nodded towards the large doors and Charlie hesitantly left the arena. “You’ve got a good friend in her,” Castiel murmured when she was gone. He gently took Dean by the arm and led him further away from the doors. “Did you know her before training?”  
“No. We met the night before.” The Rider sighed and his face hardened.  
“Why were you late?”   
Dean swallowed and stared beyond Castiel’s ear.  
“I just was.”  
“What did I say to you about looking at me while I’m talking to you?” Obediently, Dean’s eyes flicked to his- Dean wasn’t sure how he had missed the weird cat eyes last time. “First, I want you to know that I’m disappointed in you. Second, you will be punished. This afternoon, you will spar with me. Do not show up late again.” The Rider’s voice was low and dangerous. “If you’re going to be late again, don’t come. Just go back where you came from. Understood?” Dean nodded briefly.  
“Understood.” Castiel nodded back.  
“Good. Now go to lunch.”

Charlie was waiting for Dean right outside the arena.  
“That wasn’t so bad, right? You just got told off? I mean, it could definitely be worse. That’s not to say I would want Castiel mad at me, but I don’t know why you just didn’t tell him about-”  
“I have to spar with him. That’s my punishment,” Dean interrupted.   
“What?” she demanded. “No! I mean, I was watching, so I know you two just talked, but he’s gonna beat you up for being five minutes late?” Dean restrained his sigh.  
“Didn’t you hear? With the way sound carries in this place… Besides, it was more than five minutes. And he warned us not to be late.”  
“But you couldn’t help it!” she exclaimed.  
“Doesn’t matter.”

After lunch, Castiel paired the fledglings up himself, with a group of three that he told to switch every twenty minutes or so. He noticed many eyes on him as he turned to face Dean, despite the fact that they all should have been focused on fights of their own. Ignoring them, he nodded at the boy.  
“Are you ready?” Dean settled into his fighting stance, his elbows too far out.  
“Yes.” Castiel jabbed his hand forward, catching Dean in the gut.  
“Pull your elbows in. You’re leaving yourself exposed again.” Nodding, Dean did what he was told and attempted a shot at the Rider, which was easily blocked. They continued exchanging blows long past the point where Dean would have stopped for a break if he had been fighting anyone else. Finally, when Dean’s back hit the ground for the third time, Castiel nodded.  
“You did well.” If Dean had any breath left in his lungs he would have snorted- he hadn’t managed to land a single blow on the Rider. “Take a few minutes break. Get some water. Then join the group of three, tell them you’re to fight Viktor.” Castiel extended a hand and hauled Dean to his feet. He examined Dean critically for a few moments, taking in the bruises from the prior days’ fights, the ones he himself had left, and the bleeding cut above his left eye. Last, he searched Deans eyes for resentment or anger over his punishment. When he found none, he let Dean go. “Don’t be late again.” The trainee bobbed his head and made his way to the water. Castiel worked his way through the other fledglings, correcting form and offering suggestions.

That night, as he lay in his bed, Dean found he couldn’t sleep, despite how exhausted he was. He couldn’t get Castiel’s words out of his head.  
‘I’m disappointed in you,’ he had said. That wasn’t surprising- what kept Dean awake was that Castiel seemed to mean it. After four days, he cared enough to be disappointed. And Dean had delivered. Dean rolled over onto his side, wincing at it stretched one of his new bruises, a dark purple splotch on his left hip. He wished, for neither the first nor last time, that he had never set foot in the Roost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by magniloquentChanteuse

As the days passed, Dean found himself longing for home. Despite the fact that training was less than two weeks in, he had been away from his family for just over a month- the journey to the Roost was a long one.

One day, during lunch, Castiel approached Dean’s table. The fledglings were nervous, each wondering if they were about to be dismissed from the Riders for some unknown crime. When Castiel’s eyes focused on Dean, his heart plummeted into his stomach. Dean hadn’t been late- he’s run as fast as he could every day, sometimes darting into the arena feet ahead of Castiel himself, but that had to count. Technically, he was there. When Castiel held a folded paper out to him, Dean was admittedly confused.  
“It’s for you. From someone named Sam?” A wide grin stretched across Dean’s face as he understood. Castiel was delivering mail. Excitedly, he took the letter and the Rider moved down the table, passing out mail. Near-silence fell among the fledglings as they eagerly devoured news from home.

After lunch, Dean couldn’t stop thinking about the letter from his little brother- so he didn’t pay as much attention to his surroundings as he should have.  
“Hello, Dean,” a voice purred from behind him. Dean immediately tensed as his blood ran cold.  
“Alistair.”

Castiel counted heads as he entered the arena. Only 99. A quick search confirmed his suspicious- Dean wasn’t there. Just as Castiel began pairing trainees up to practice fighting with their staffs. Dean appeared in the doorway, face flushed and out of breath. He and Castiel locked eyes and the Rider shook his head minutely. Dean was too late. His shoulders slumped and he nodded before shuffling away. Castiel hoped he would stay long enough for them to talk later.

That night, Castiel wandered long-forgotten halls, as he often did when he couldn’t sleep. No one had seen Dean since lunch, and all his belongings had disappeared from the fledgling’s room.  
As he was considering returning to his room, Castiel heard a voice that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up- Alistair, his absolutely least favorite Rider. Whatever he was up to, is was sure to be rotten. Silently, Castiel stalked forward. The hall he walked along ended at one of the larger passageways, and he had to listen for a moment to decide which way to go. Castiel followed the slimy voice for a number of minutes before he found its source. Quickly hiding in the mouth of a darkened passage, he examined the scene before him with surprise.

After being let go from the Riders, Dean wandered back to his room and numbly packed his belongings. He changed into his own clothes, leaving his staff and armor on the bed. He almost set out for home then, but he remembered what Castiel has said on the first day of training.  
‘Until you leave this mountain, you are ours, and we are yours.’ Taking his bag with him, he roamed the mountain for a long time, wondering what he would do with himself when he got home. Becoming a Rider had been his last option, and without it, he was lost. When he heard the sunset-bell, he sat down heavily to wait. Unwillingly, his eyes drifted shut.

Dean’s eyes shot open as he was kicked, hard, in the side. He yelped and scrambled to his feet, fury surging just below his skin.  
“Alistair.” he snarled, hands curling into fists.  
“Hello, Dean. You seem to have misplaced your armor.” Alistair smiled. Dean suppressed his shudder. “Little fledglings shouldn’t wander around without armor. Unless, of course,” he tutted patronisingly. “You were late to training again, weren’t you?” Smoothly, Alistair stepped into Dean’s space, caging him against the wall with his arms. “I did warn you, Dean, that you would have to run very fast-” he cut off as Dean’s head slammed into his face. He stumbled back a step, laughing. “Very good, Dean. If you had tried a little harder,” Dean wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly Alistair was pressing his stomach into the wall, arms twisted painfully behind his back. “You would have broken my nose.” Holding both of Dean’s wrists in one hand, Alistair twisted his other through Dean’s hair, knocking his head roughly against the stone. “The day we first met, I told you we were going to play a game, and I’d be upset if it was over too soon. Do you remember that?” he slammed Dean into the rock again, grinding his face in with every word. “This. Was. Too. Soon.” Dizzy from the blows to his head, Dean stared into the distance. From the dark, two gleaming eyes shone back. As Dean pondered them, Castiel stepped into the light, revealing the eyes to be his own.  
“Let go of him, Alistair.” The other Rider sneered, but did as he was told.  
“What a surprise,” he drawled. “How can I help you tonight?” Castiel carefully drew Dean towards himself, examining the cuts on his face, though Dean wouldn’t look at him.  
“Not tonight,” he finally answered. “Tomorrow.” Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Meet me in the training arena, after lunch, unless you’re too coward to show your face to me again.” Alistair let out a greasy chuckle.  
“I wouldn’t miss it. Until then, Castiel. Dean.” Dean watched Alistair saunter away before he spoke, eyes on the ground.  
“I’m sorry. I was waiting to see you before I left and I fell asleep.” Castiel placed a gentle hand on the small of Dean’s back and led him in the opposite direction of Alistair.  
“It’s alright, Dean. Now, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer honestly. Did Alistair have anything to do with you being late?” Dean didn’t speak. “Answer me.”  
“Yes. He said-”  
“Not now. We have a lot to discuss, and I’d rather not do it right now. We’ll talk after training tomorrow, alright? I expect you there, in your armor, staff in place.” Castiel led Dean into a quiet room the fledgling hadn’t seen before.  
“Missouri?” Called the Rider. “Missouri, wake up.” Dean shifted uncomfortably as silence stretched through the room.  
“What do you want, Castiel?” groaned a voice from deeper within. “I don’t have any more teas for you to try.”  
“You have a patient.” Dean heard grumbling before a short, dark skinned woman in a simple dress ambled into the light.  
“Hello, handsome,” Greeted the older woman. “What happened to you?” Dean hesitated before answering.  
“Alistair-”  
“Say no more.” she interrupted, before turning to Castiel. “If you want him in training tomorrow, get out of here so I can work without your pretty blue eyes distracting me.” Castiel turned to Dean, and finally let his hand drop from his back.  
“Dawn. Try not to be late. But if she,” he nodded towards Missouri. “Holds you back, come as soon as you can.” Castiel turned to leave the room, but turned back as he got to the doorway. “And, Dean?” A smile graced Castiel’s face as he glanced at the doctor, whose eyes narrowed. “Good luck.”  
“Get out of my infirmary, boy!” Missouri cried. “Out!” With a final nod to both of them, Castiel left.  
“Have a seat and let me look at your face. Follow my finger with your eyes. I’m not really as bad as all that. I suppose, to you, he probably seems intimidating, being the famous Castiel and all, but he’s a sweet boy.” While she cleaned out the many scrapes on Dean’s face with a foul-smelling liquid, she continued speaking. “I got to know him when he was just a fledgling himself. He spent a few days here, and even though he was hurting, he was always polite.” If Dean hadn’t been so ludicrously intimidated by the woman, he would have asked why Castiel had to spend days in the infirmary. “He’d probably never guess it, but he’s the most powerful person in this whole mountain, and not because he could beat everyone else to the Capital and back. He’s trained 60 Riders, most of which are still alive and flying. The 9 he trained with are all still alive, and they love him. The higher-ups trust him to command armies, and the dragons adore him. All he’d have to do to take over the Roost is say the word. I can think of maybe three or four people who might object. But Castiel’s modest. He doesn’t want to run the Roost. Boy just wants to fly.” There were a few moments of silence while Dean absorbed the information. When he opened his mouth to speak, Missouri spoke over him, slathering a white paste over his cuts. “This’ll help you heal, and hopefully keep the scarring down, some of those were deep. Now, you go lay down and get some sleep on that cot right over there. I’ll give you something to help you make it through tomorrow in the morning.”  
Dean fell asleep quickly, feeling that Missouri was more of a force to be reckoned with then she let on.

In the morning, the dawn-bell woke Dean slowly. His head has pounding and his cheek ached. When he struggled to his feet, he noticed his armor and staff on a chair next to the bed. The rush of joy at their appearance surprised him. He quickly got dressed and hefted the staff with a slight smile.  
“Still an oversized stick.” he muttered as he slid it into place on his back. Missouri shuffled busily into sight.  
“Pop this into your mouth, let it sit there for a while.” She handed him a small packet of herbs. “It’ll be a bit uncomfortable, but after about ten minutes, you chew it up and swallow. Now, listen here, boy.” Missouri waited until she was sure she had Dean’s full attention. “This is the only one of these you will ever get from me. Don’t come back expecting more, understood?”  
“Understood,” Dean agreed. Under Missouri’s watchful eye, he placed the bundle into his mouth, grimacing at the bitter taste. Dean nodded and turned to go to breakfast, only to turn back around a moment later. He offered his hand and moved the bundle of herbs into his cheek so he could speak clearly.  
“I’m Dean.” Missouri smiled softly- Dean though she looked approving.  
“Well met, Dean.”


	5. Chapter 5

When Charlie saw Dean enter the cafeteria for breakfast, she squealed and threw herself at him, forcing him to stumble into the nearest wall with a thump.  
“Where were you yesterday?” she demanded when she pulled away. “What happened? Was it Alistair? Are you in trouble for missing training? What happened to your face?” Dean moved the small bundle of herbs Missouri had given him into his cheek so he could answer.  
“I don’t think I’m in too much trouble. I’m still in, at least. Alistair happened to my face, and… what were the other questions?”

As the pair sat down with their breakfast, Dean began to chew the bitter leaves in his mouth, as the doctor had instructed him to do. By the time they left for the arena, Dean felt better than he had since the first day of training. His head wasn’t throbbing, his muscles weren’t screaming, even his vision seemed to have improved.

All throughout the morning, Dean found himself having to hold back his strength and speed. He didn’t understand. Could two weeks of training really make such a difference? So suddenly? At lunch he tried to discuss it with Charlie, but she didn’t understand- she was still exhausted, thank you very much.

When Dean and Charlie entered the arena after lunch, both Castiel and Alistair were already there, and for a moment, they panicked- where they late? Glancing warily around the space, the trainees silently decided the Riders were early. Resolutely ignoring the looks Alistair threw in his direction, Dean settled against the wall to wait.

Casting his gaze up the mountain’s path, Castiel frowned. Other Riders were gathering, and he knew exactly why. Alistair hadn’t exactly been quiet about the fact that Castiel had more or less challenged him to a duel. Seeing as he hadn’t officially challenged him, Castiel had hoped to avoid a spectacle.   
When it came time to start the afternoon’s training, he addressed the fledglings.  
“Within the Riders, we have several ways of resolving disputes. Those with a problem may appoint a neutral judge, and follow their decision, they may take it before Michael, who is currently our leader, or, most commonly, they may duel, with the winner also winning the argument. Today, I have asked Alistair,” he nodded towards the other Rider, who lifted his hand in recognition, “To join us for a demonstration.” The Riders along the path began muttering amongst themselves. When Castiel’s glare shut them up, several of the fledglings tittered, causing him to direct the harsh gaze at them. When several of the Riders chuckled, Castiel dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose until silence fell again. When it did, he directed the fledglings to form a single large circle. “When one Rider challenges another to a duel, there must always be witnesses at the fight itself, to later attest as to who won. Usually, the more the better. The witnesses, in this case, you, form the ring in which the fight takes place. Then, the reasons for the duel are stated and terms set up.” As he spoke, Castiel and Alistair moved into the ring. “Among the Riders, there are three general ideas as to how the fighting should occur. Those who believe that full armor and weapons should be used are known as followers of Trin, a dragon who lived many years ago and believed that dueling should be as much like true battle as possible. Those who believe that full armor without weapons should be used are know as followers of Anael, a Rider many years ago who thought that duelling was a thoroughly antiquated practice that should leave behind no wounds. Both of these fights end when one of the Riders submits to the other. The third and smallest school of thought are the followers of Uriel, a Rider many years ago who relished the inflicting of pain and believed all dueling should be done armorless and weaponless. The only way such a duel can end is when one of the fighters is unconscious or dead. Since Alistair is a follower of Uriel, and I challenged him,” muttering suddenly filled the space, and the Riders along the path began muttering among themselves again, and Castiel cursed quietly. Up until that moment, he had been very careful to not actually challenge Alistair- but by saying it, he had made it so. “We will follow his rules today.” Castiel and Alistair stripped quickly, until they were both left only in their pants.  
“Castiel,” drawled the other Rider. “I know why we’re here, of course, but tradition says you should announce it.” Castiel’s eyes narrowed as Alistair smiled lecherously towards Dean.  
“Very well,” he murmured. He raised his voice to it echoed through the arena. “You are a coward who would rather prey on the unprepared and the weak than act with a shred of decency or dignity. You are a disgrace to the Riders. You and all that you stand for disgust me.” Castiel ignored the reaction that spread around them, both from the fledglings are the Riders. Alistair grinned, unaffected by the harsh words.  
“And what, then, are your terms?”  
“If I best you today, you must leave the Roost and never return.” Several of the watching Riders gasped- there had always been animosity between Castiel and Alistair, but none of them had ever guessed it would end in exile. Alistair considered Castiel’s words for a moment.  
“I accept your terms. But assuming you’re still alive after I pummel you into the ground,” he cooed. “You will pass training of the fledglings over to me.” The trainees shifted nervously. Sure, Castiel’s training was tough, but they all had the distinct impression that they didn’t want Alistair to train them instead.  
“I accept your terms.”

As the pair closed to the center of the ring, Dean found himself hoping that Castiel’s fighting skills were as good as everyone said. Everyone had heard of Castiel and his dragon. The stories said they had stopped and won wars entirely on their own, and alone Castiel had decimated entire armies. Of course, the stories also said he was ten feet tall with glowing red eyes.

A man stepped forward on the mountain path, and slowly, attention filtered to him. Both Castiel and Alistair offered him a brief bow, inclining their torsos very slightly. He raised a hand in the air, and they turned towards each other, backs straight. The man clapped his hands together three times, the sound resonating through the arena painfully, beginning the fight. Even as the signal ended, Alistair launched himself toward Castiel, tackling him to the ground. They grappled for several moments as the teacher struggled to seize control from the older Rider. Alistair managed to grab one of his wrists, but only because Castiel had been focusing on jamming his knees between them. With a shout and a heave, Alistair found the world flipping around him until he hit the ground hard, breath forced out of him by the kick in the gut that he had just received. 

Castiel rolled to his knees, immediately bringing the heels of both hands down against Alistair’s ears, drawing a cry of pain from him. He drew back quickly as Alistair thrashed his arms towards him, coordination momentarily lost, but he quickly returned to grab at the limbs of the other man, attempting to restrain him. As Alistair’s senses returned, though, he tensed, then rocked his lower body twice before managing to roll backwards, feet headed straight for the other rider’s face. Castiel ducked down below the arch of the blow, only to catch the look of triumph on Alistair’s face before it disappeared from his field of view. He tried to get out of the way, but he felt knees slamming into his back and he crashed against the ground with a grunt of pain. He slapped his palms against the stone to try and push upwards before Alistair could catch his balance, but then he felt a hand in his hair and his head was reared back, and then forward.  
He might have lost in that moment, if he hadn’t managed to jerk his face to the side, causing the side of his head to hit instead of his face. He knew that Alistair wasn’t likely to let him get away with that again, though.  
He bucked his back upwards, upsetting Alistair’s equilibrium enough for him to roll to the side, throwing the other man off of him. He scrambled hastily to his feet and backed away, trying to gain time to gather his wits. He watched, vision still swimming, as Alistair rose, too. Both men were panting.  
“I had a talk with Michael the other day,” Alistair announced, in his most condescending tone. “He told me some very interesting things, you know. Do you want to know what? It was about you, of course.” As he spoke, they slowly started to circle each other, each man watching for his opportunity to attack.   
Castiel’s teeth grit as he tried to tune out the words that he knew were meant to goad him. “He told me about the day you showed up at the Roost. What a pitiful sight you must have been. I wish I could have seen, the mighty Castiel just a boy. And your,” Alistair sneered. “Poor, poor mother.” he tutted gently. “If only someone had been around to save her.”  
Castiel’s noble intentions went out the window. His blood pounded in his ears and he dropped low, throwing himself forward to collide with Alistair’s knees. There was a sharp cry of pain as Alistair tripped over Castiel’s body, sending him sprawling to the floor. He spun and jumped back at Alistair, grabbing him by the shoulder and flipping him violently onto his back. His fist came down once, “You know,” his other hand, balled up in rage, pounded into his other cheek. “Nothing,” His right fist struck again. “About my mother.” He managed to get in one more punch to the face before Alistair shoved him off. He felt a sharp, cracking pain across his own face as the other rider began to return the blows, but Castiel’s rage wasn’t spent, yet. He dove under Alistair’s arms, then up, driving the crown of his skull up against his jaw. He heard teeth clack together and the limbs above him slackened as he pulled back again, getting his feet under him.   
Before he could stand, though, Alistair was jumping forward again, although his eyes looked a little duller than they had before. Castiel topped backwards under another rain of punches, but he grabbed hold of his shoulders and they rolled, putting the teacher on top again. It didn’t last long: Alistair threw him off and surged upwards, one foot swinging up to catch Castiel in the gut. The man was knocked back again, and he felt the breath rush out of him. As he tried to stagger to his feet, another kick knocked him back to the ground.

“I was wrong.” As Alistair spoke, Castiel watched another kick arch towards his face. “You’re still a pitiful little boy crying for his moth-” That was enough of that. Castiel grabbed hold of his leg and shoved upwards, causing Alistair to tip over backwards. The back of his head hit the ground hard, but Castiel gave him one last hard punch to the face. Just to be sure.

The arena was silent, except for Castiel’s ragged breath as he struggled to control his rage. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet and locked eyes with Dean.  
“Bring me his staff.” he ordered quietly. Dean darted to do as he was told without question. He pulled the staff from the pile of Alistair’s armor and quickly brought it to the Rider, handing it to him. Castiel nodded his thanks and looked for a long moment at the worn wood in his hands. Dean quickly made his way back to his spot in the circle. Glancing up at the assembled Rider’s, Castiel’s face hardened, and he lifted one of his legs, snapping Alistair’s staff over his knee. Several outraged cries rang down, but he wasn’t done yet. Gathering his strength, Castiel left the ring and made his way towards the cliff edge. As hard as he could, he tossed the pieces of the staff in different directions. With a slight nod to himself he returned to the ring, where several Riders were already working on moving Alistair out of the way. Blood streaming down his face, Castiel once more addressed his fledglings, quietly. “You are all under my protection. If anyone treats you in a manner that is wrong, tell me, and I will help you.” He let his words sink in for a moment, then stood a little straighter. “Now, pair up with your partners from yesterday. Dean, you’re to fight Benny.”


End file.
